


We Were Electrified

by Houseofmalfoy, stonecoldhedwig



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Death Eaters, First War with Voldemort, Growing Up, Growing Up Together, Lestrange Brothers - Freeform, Multi, Rodolphus and Rabastan are twins, Transgender, Young Death Eaters, Young Slytherins, lgbt representation, trans!Narcissa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houseofmalfoy/pseuds/Houseofmalfoy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonecoldhedwig/pseuds/stonecoldhedwig
Summary: Rodolphus, Rabastan and Narcissa have always been friends. They weren't always bad. Once upon a time, they could have been good.Begins in the summer just before their fifth year.
Relationships: Rabastan Lestrange & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Rabastan Lestrange & Rodolphus Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange & Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 16
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

August that year oozed with the golden warmth of long, uninterrupted days, the sun hanging in a cerulean sky. The soft flesh of the fruit on the trees swelled and ripened, splitting open so that rivulets of warm juice dripped decadently to the orchard floor. The lake glittered, the grass turned from verdant green to ochre and brown—everything was rich and shrouded in hazy delight. It felt like a summer they would hold onto forever, clutched tight on dark nights and grey days, a nostalgic gem when the months had stretched out and each hour bled into the next with delicious insouciance, as though time had all but ceased to be important. 

Rabastan, however, was bored. Despite the tapestry of colour and delight in the grounds, he remained in the cool shadow of Lestrange Manor’s library, standing at the window to fix the outside world with a frown. On the small writing desk to his right sat his diary—thick parchment pages bound in midnight blue leather—and an eagle feather quill, his erstwhile companions since lunchtime. He’d written nearly ten pages since then, a slow act of adoration to the sound of his quill scratching against the parchment. 

It was past four o’clock, though you wouldn’t have known it with how high the sun still was in the sky. The low table in the library had been set for tea just as it was every afternoon. A cake stand—silver, ornately woven, an heirloom—was laden with every delight: dainty sandwiches filled with the very best produce that the Lestrange estate could offer; scones studded with little gems of fruit, waiting to be smothered in clotted cream and jam; delicate macarons and fairy cakes iced with buttercream. Rabastan’s mouth watered when he looked at it, and at the icy jug of fresh lemonade and two glasses sitting beside it. His frown deepened. 

Rabastan was bored because Rodolphus was late. Seventeen minutes late, to be precise. The family ate the main meals together each day, where possible, but the twin brothers always took afternoon tea alone, just the two of them. Rabastan let out a grunt of disapproval, and turned back to the window. 

When Rodolphus did enter the library a few minutes later, he was in no rush at all. Having spent the majority of the day outside making well-meant but seemingly futile attempts at getting their latest pegasus filly to begin trusting him, he was in a good mood that was only made brighter at the idea of being able to annoy his brother mildly. 

He didn’t feel like Rabastan would be able to blame him at all, really, when the reason for his lateness was something Rodolphus assumed his twin would be every bit as glad about as he was. 

He’d been on time—or at the very least had been on time enough—getting changed out of the robes he wore when working with the winged horses around Lestrange Manor, nearly enough to make it down to the library only a minute or two after four, when he’d received Narcissa’s owl. Rabastan would surely understand it was only to be expected that he reply to her before afternoon tea. 

“I know, I know,” Rodolphus threw his hands up and began his excuse before his brother had a chance to say anything. He sat down on one of the armchairs near the low table and looked up at Rabastan with a grin. “Not my fault. Cissa owled, she will be arriving after dinner tonight. Said she’s fine, elves are preparing a room, mother is excited.”

He was excited, too. They hadn’t heard too much from Narcissa since the start of the summer holidays a few weeks back, and though the occasional updates hadn’t been as worrying as they could have been, they were both eager to see their close friend in person. 

Rabastan pursed his lips and refrained from making a comment. Instead, he poured out a glass of the cold lemonade and slid it across the table to his brother. “Drink,” he urged, “you look like you’re hotter than a Blast-Ended Skrewt.” 

“Might be,” Rodolphus shrugged, ducking his head when he lifted the glass to his lips with a smile. He often lost track of time when he was outside, more so when he was with the horses, and despite the heat he couldn’t really remember when he’d last sat down for a drink today. “Thanks. She’ll be here tonight, but she didn’t say much more.”

Rabastan allowed himself a smile, then. Narcissa arriving would mean long conversations stretching into the early hours, the three of them putting the world to rights. It would mean riding the horses down to the lake, and picnics, and stargazing. The boys had hoped for something exciting to tide them over until term started again, and Narcissa was providing it; soon, owls from Hogwarts would arrive with their book lists for fifth year, and that would mean a trip to Diagon Alley, too. 

“Feels like forever since we’ve seen her, doesn’t it?” Rabastan helped himself to a smoked salmon sandwich, stuffing half of it in his mouth and speaking thickly through it. “Not since the end of term.” 

He looked at his brother thoughtfully as he ate, head cocked a little to one side. They were about as different as twins could be: Rodolphus was dark like their father, brown tousled hair that he hadn’t fixed before tea, high cheekbones and hooded dark-blue eyes giving him a natural threatening, warning, look that only worked if you didn’t know the person behind it too well.

Rabastan, however, looked like their mother. The younger twin had Adrastia’s Greengrass genes: fair hair that fell onto his forehead, pink cheeks that belied a sense of innocence that wasn’t entirely undeserved. His blue eyes were inquisitive, observant, constantly flitting about the place and picking up the details that so often went overlooked. 

“It does,” Rodolphus answered him, leaning back in his chair lazily after taking a slice of lemon cake from the tray, tapping his wand against the arm of it absentmindedly. He gave his brother a mildly disgusted scowl at the way he was eating, but only got halfway through swallowing his cake before not being able to keep silent any longer. 

It did feel like it’d been too long since they’d last seen Narcissa. It didn’t help that with a family like the Blacks, aside from the brothers steadily growing bored of only spending time alone or with one another, you could never be sure when was an appropriate time to begin worrying. Rodolphus was no expert on the dynamics within the infamous house of Black, but between her intentions of coming out to her family; the lack of consistency and real information in her letters; not to mention how badly Rodolphus wanted to talk to someone he wasn’t related to after such a long time with just his family, he was relieved she’d finally be coming over. 

“She didn’t say how long she’ll be staying, but I guess til the start of term,” Rodolphus continued, frowning when his wand sparked unexpectedly. He shrugged, then grinned almost immediately and continued the rhythm as though nothing had happened; elves could fix the small burn mark later. “I wonder if we’ll get told about prefect and captain positions already, too,” he said, unintentionally changing the topic, “and we’ll have to take the Abraxans for a ride when she gets here; she hasn’t forgiven me for putting her on a Greynian with no warning yet…” 

Rabastan chuckled at the unintentional sparks. 

“D’you think…” he trailed off and swallowed the rest of his sandwich. “D’you think she’s coming because of, y’know, her parents not—not taking things well?” 

“Could be,” Rodolphus muttered, and at once it felt like the conversation sobered up. It wasn’t a far-fetched suggestion, after all. He already wasn’t too sure how exactly their own parents would have responded to one of them transitioning in that way, though he had little doubt Adrastia and Raoul would always respond better than the Blacks might. The Black family ruled their children with a much harsher hand for a reason he’d never quite understood.

This time he waited until he’d finished his cake to continue his thought. “We didn’t hear anything, mother and father didn’t either I guess. That—can be good or bad… But we would’ve heard it if... if it was big, right?” He assumed, or hoped, that they would have heard it already if Narcissa had been in big trouble, just as he was sure they would have heard if her family had already publicly given her their support. It would have been news either way, and it would have reached them. 

The possibilities in between those two options were many and Rodolphus had no idea what to expect. “Can’t really imagine the Blacks being too… open-minded. She’ll be okay here either way, right?”

Rabastan let out a little hum of agreement, tipping his head to one side as he picked up another sandwich. He paused, his hand resting on the side of the plate, fingers either side of a particularly excellent-looking ham sandwich. 

“Cygnus and Druella being open-minded?” He snorted a little. “Yeah, not going to happen.” 

Rabastan sat back in his armchair and looked at his brother. Rodolphus was right—news travelled with the wind in the pureblood world. A whisper in Paris would reach London by lunchtime, their father always said, and surely that was true of Narcissa’s situation. They’d have heard _something_ if the Black parents had welcomed this change with open arms, or if they’d cast their daughter to the street. _Subtlety_ was not in Druella’s vocabulary; that was a trait reserved for her sister-in-law and the _other_ side of the Black family. After all, it was _Druella_ who had told half the pureblood world that her nephew was a Gryffindor practically before the Sorting Ceremony was over…

“I hope it’s a good thing,” Bastan continued. “I hope it just means that they’re generally accepting it and just… getting adjusted, or something. Learning to use her name, something like that. I hope. They can’t have kicked her out, we’d have heard about it.” 

Rodolphus nodded, truly just wanting his brother to be right about this. “Just getting adjusted, yeah. That’s gotta be it.”

Bastan took a bite of his sandwich, and let out a satisfied sigh. Narcissa arriving would be good; he’d just upgraded to the new Cleansweep, meaning that his old Comet 150 was going spare for Narcissa to ride. Rabastan was as Quidditch-mad as his brother was horse-obsessed, and all he could think about was how much better it would be to have three of them flying together. The summer before, they’d build an obstacle course in the woods—hoops that changed size, trees to slalom between, a rather ingenious flaming tunnel—and Bastan was itching to see how his new broom fared. It wasn’t as fun when you were only competing against yourself. 

“Narcissa can have my old Comet,” he said decisively, “and we can see if we can beat our times on the flying course.” He jumped up out of his chair and wandered over to where his journal lay open, swapping his sandwich to the other hand so that he could pick up his quill and scratch out a note to himself to _clear up the flying course_. “I bet Narcissa will be even better than last year.” 

Rodolphus grinned at Rabastan’s excitement over the prospect of flying with the three of them. His brother had always been more into quidditch than he was, even though they’d been on the Slytherin team together for a while now. He liked the game and he liked flying, but he much preferred flying the horses if he got to choose; he had always liked them better. 

When Narcissa arrived, they’d be able to fly with the three of them like they did every summer. She’d come over a few weeks during the holidays ever since they’d started Hogwarts, and it was always one of Rodolphus’ favourite times of the year when they could spend as much time as they wanted outside. Just the three of them, not a care in the world. “For her sake, I hope you’re right,” Rodolphus responded, but he had no doubt Rabastan was right in what he was saying. Cissa had never been interested in trying out for the team at all, but she never had a very hard time keeping up with Bastan when they flew together. 

He leaned forward to fill his glass with pumpkin juice and took a sandwich as well, then leaned back in his chair again as he watched Rabastan jot something down in his journal. Rodolphus had never really understood their father’s and now his brother’s need to write in diaries so much; the one time he’d tried it he’d given up after the second day when he’d forgotten all about it. “It’ll be great to have Cissa here again,” he muttered. “I want to know for sure she’s fine.”

Rabastan looked up from his journal and nodded thoughtfully. “Same,” he agreed, and then echoed his brother’s words. “I want to know she’s fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins finally get to hear about Narcissa's summer...

Even before Narcissa had been able to take a proper look at her friends, she felt an undeniable surge of relief stepping out of the fireplace and into Lestrange Manor’s drawing room. A decade of weeks on end spent with Rodolphus and Rabastan, of having a guest bedroom that had become her own over the years, and of being treated by the Lestranges as if she was one of their own, had made the beautiful manor feel nothing short of  _ home _ .

After the summer she had had so far, it was like being able to breathe freely again after what had felt like weeks and weeks of not knowing if she was allowed air or not. Though Narcissa supposed it could have been far worse—she could have been disowned, and regardless of anything else she was grateful that she maintained her spot on her family’s treasured tree—she was glad to be able to leave Black Hall for the time being.

Her parents’ overtly explosive arguments about  _ her  _ and what she was doing to their family, not to mention her future within that family that until recently had felt far more uncertain than Narcissa would have preferred it to be, ceased to matter. Her mother’s blatant refusal to use her name and her father’s inability to look her in the eye despite his defense of her against Druella Black hurt a little less, too. It all seemed to fade just enough when she saw the twins all but jumping out of their seats upon her arrival and Narcissa crossed the room towards her friends with a lip gloss smile.

Her posture was just a little more timid and just a little less arrogant than she would have liked it, but it hardly mattered at all. What did it really matter when her pale blonde hair almost fell to her shoulders as she put her trunk down for an elf to take it to her room, and Rodolphus blurted out “Cissa!” with a familiar excitement that only brightened the determination in her eyes. She looked at Rabastan expectantly, eager for his greeting. 

From his side of the room, Narcissa looked both better and worse than Rabastan had expected. She looked tired—that was to be expected, he supposed—but something about her was light, glowing. It glittered about her skin, shimmered in the light of the candles; seemed to flicker slightly with the breeze that was gently blowing through the drawing room’s open French doors.

Bastan fought the urge to rush forward and shove Narcissa’s shoulder like he was used to doing.  _ That wasn’t the done thing with witches _ . Instead, he shoved his hands awkwardly into the pockets of his trousers and cocked his head to one side. “Got here alright, then,” he said a little gruffly. 

Behind Rabastan, their father let the copy of the Daily Prophet he was reading fall gently to his lap. Raoul Lestrange had given his looks to his eldest son; like Rodolphus, he was dark, with hooded eyes that held a kind of danger in them that seemed only just contained. There had always been conversation about the Lestrange twins, about the kinds of powerful, ancient magic that produced twins so perfectly representing the two sides of their bloodline. 

Yet, when Raoul stood from his seat, it was  _ Rabastan _ he resembled; the same languid casualness was present in the way he moved. There was a kind of latent power in those movements. 

“Narcissa,” he said, drawing out the name as though it was the first time he’d ever said it, chewing over the syllables and tasting them thoughtfully. “So lovely to have you with us again.” 

“The manor’s not hard to find,” Narcissa quipped at Bastan. She looked at the way he hesitated to move towards her, and though she thought she understood what made him rethink greeting her, she couldn’t deny it stung just a little. She’d wondered—feared might have been a better way to describe it—if and how things would change between her and her friends; but part of her was sure it would just be temporary, they’d find new things. 

Next to his brother she saw Rodolphus grin; though he also looked at Rabastan to see what he would do. Before Narcissa had time to think how utterly daft the Lestrange twins could be at times, she heard their father speak to her and looked up to him with a polite smile. “It’s wonderful to be back.” Overdoing it a little, perhaps, seeing as she had been welcomed here for so many years already, but she couldn’t help herself. The amount of tension in her features only lessened a little when Narcissa looked at the Lady of house, the twins’ mother, and relaxed under Adrastia’s warm, reassuring smile.

Adrastia Lestrange, like her husband, had stood when Narcissa had arrived, and she eyed the young girl with equal levels of curiosity and protectiveness. A Greengrass by blood, Adrastia stood tall with deep blue eyes and dark-blonde hair she always wore in intricate updos done by her elves; her youngest undeniably having taken after her in both looks and vanity. She liked to think both her boys had inherited her heart, and though she felt the need to chastise Rabastan and Rodolphus for their hesitation, she also liked to think Narcissa Black was proving her right. 

Unlike either of her sons, Adrastia crossed the space between herself and the girl she promised herself she would treat like one of her own for the next few weeks. She tutted at the twins, though with no real sternness behind it, and merely smiled warmly at Narcissa—who she was quite sure would be the first witch of the house of Black she would enjoy being around. 

“Don’t fret about them, darling; the boys will get used to having a woman in the house who’s not their mother soon enough,” she spoke gently, wrapping her arms around Narcissa’s slender frame. Adrastia knew she was right; the three teenagers had spent the past ten years growing up together, finding ways to act with one another, and though there were things that would change and things that would possibly feel awkward at first, she had enough faith in the lot of them to know it would work out just fine. 

The most important thing right now was that Narcissa, after Adrastia blamed the girl’s mother for how she initially tensed up at the show of affection, far too politely, far too properly, returned the embrace with a smile. They both chuckled when Rabastan could be heard scoffing behind them. 

“Mama’s just pleased she has someone else to fuss over,” Rabastan teased, finally making his way over to Narcissa and pressing a polite kiss to her cheek. He gave an almost-imperceptible nod after he did so, as though he was confirming to himself that yes, that  _ was _ how you greeted a friend-who-was-a-girl, because you definitely didn’t punch witches on the arm and tell them they look like bubotuber pus. He beamed at Narcissa. “How long are you staying?”

Narcissa chuckled, turning to Bastan with a smile when he kissed her cheek. She watched as Adrastia shook her head while laughing warmly, ruffling her son’s hair before she moved away from the teenagers to stand closer to her husband again. 

“Until we leave for Hogwarts. Father figured that would be best for everyone.” Narcissa told him, looking at both the twins with a slight shrug. She understood her father had mostly meant that her staying away until the winter holidays would give her mother the most time to come around, and she was rather grateful for not having to be around to wait and see for that. “It would hardly make any sense to go back home for just one more week before term starts, would it?”

“That’s great!” Rodolphus told her, and when Narcissa looked at him he’d thankfully followed Rabastan’s example. 

Rodolphus kissed her cheek just as his younger brother had done, and wrapped a single arm around her in a short-lasting hug. Not what he was used to doing with Narcissa, not a form of affection he was accustomed to at all really, besides from their parents; but he didn’t mind it. It was kind of nice, really; he could get used to it. 

His eyes were bright, glittering with excitement at the prospect of having Narcissa with them for the rest of the summer, and he grinned broadly when he looked down at her. She looked worn down, in his opinion, but that’d surely be fixed within days now; other than that, Rodolphus couldn’t really remember seeing her look better, brighter, in the decade they’d known each other. 

“It’s good to see you,” he told her sincerely, his grin never faltering. Rodolphus’ eyes darted from Narcissa to his father. “There was a new foal born last week,” he said, looking back at Narcissa again, “Lycus, we named him. Greynian, but we’ll probably not keep him at the manor.” 

“Narcissa doesn’t want to hear about the horses, Dolphus,” Rabastan said, rolling his eyes and giving his brother a playful shove with his shoulder. “I cleared out the flying course before dinner, added a couple of things. I upgraded to the new Cleansweep at the start of the summer, you’ll have to have a ride on it.” 

Rabastan looked at Narcissa, his face breaking into a grin. There was a genuine excitement in his eyes, the usual cautiousness replaced by warmth at the sight of his old friend. The three of them had been friends for so long, had spent their entire lives knowing that they were Black and Lestrange boys, heirs to something greater than themselves. Many things may have changed—a seismic shift in circumstances—but some remained the same: the bonds between the twins and Narcissa seemed just as they always had. 

“I’m sure Narcissa probably doesn’t want to hear about your flying course either, Bastan,” Raoul chided gently from behind the teenagers. There was still a whisper of the French accent of his youth in the way he spoke, rolling his words in the back of his throat. He offered his arm to his wife. “Shall we take a walk around the grounds before bed, my darling? I’m sure the boy— _ children _ have much to catch up on.” 

Adrastia smiled at the excitement in both her sons; she’d always been proud of the way Rodolphus and Rabastan both were turning out, and she had little doubt they would only continue to flourish in the way she wanted them to: proud, passionate, and truly remarkable friends. A little overly excited they were at times, perhaps, but she had never minded it. If a minor obsession with quidditch or the family business was all she had to worry about, she would count herself a successful mother. 

She took the arm her husband offered her, shaking her head when Rodolphus wasted no time to shove his brother back. “That’s a wonderful suggestion, love, I’m quite sure they do,” she told Raoul. Adrastia was dreadfully curious, and worried nearly an equal amount, about the summer Narcissa Black would have had up until now, but knew better than to insert herself in a conversation she would not be wanted. If something were truly amiss, she merely hoped either of her boys would let her know. 

“Don’t worry, sir, I’ve had more than enough time to practice feigning interest with them,” Adrastia heard Narcissa retort, and she laughed heartily while she let her husband escort her outside, but not before turning back to the young girl and wink at her with a knowing grin. 

Narcissa smiled back at her, then looked at the Lestrange twins as soon as Raoul and Adrastia left the room, feeling simultaneously a little more at ease and a little more nervous than before. Rodolphus let himself fall back on the couch, claiming a whole sofa for himself, and she laughed at him. The moment she sat down on the other sofa herself she did, however, feel how exhausted she really was.

“I do want to try out the new Cleansweep, obviously. And go to see the horses, all of them,” she told her friends, shrugging slightly. “Tomorrow, both.”

“Absolutely. The course is pretty good; I wonder if we could add a section at the end once you get to the paddock, and see if we can get the horses to fly it, too.” Bastan walked over to the drinks cabinet in the corner. “Tomorrow, though,” he said, echoing Narcissa’s comment. There were things more important to discuss at that moment than horses and broomsticks, he thought, pouring out three glasses of elf-made wine. He cast a muttered  _ wingardium leviosa _ —his non-verbal magic was not yet perfect, much to his disdain—and directed the glasses to his brother and friend. 

“First, though,” continued Bastan as he settled himself in an armchair, one leg thrown over the arm and wine in hand, “you should tell us about your summer. And—” he raised his eyebrow when he saw Narcissa open her mouth— “don’t you dare say it’s been  _ fine _ . We’ve both met your mother, remember?” 

With his free hand, Rabastan spun his wand round casually. It was made of alder, a light wood with a distinctive honey hue, with a centaur hair core.  _ Half man, half horse _ , Rabastan thought as he glanced down at it.  _ Better suited to Rodolphus than me.  _

Narcissa took the wine with a pleased smile and leaned back into the sofa as she took a sip of the drink. Though she was looking forward to seeing the updated flying course she didn’t respond to it now; there was plenty of time to discuss and try it in the upcoming weeks. She scoffed when Bastan interrupted her before she’d had the chance to say anything, but couldn’t deny that he’d guessed correctly what she’d been about to say. She was right, though, if you asked her. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

She shrugged, avoiding both the brothers’ eyes on her for the moment. “I haven’t been tortured into obedience, nor have they disowned me, regardless of aunt Walburga’s and my mother’s opinions on the matter,” Narcissa stated, looking up at Rodolphus with annoyance at the way he was tapping his nails against his glass of wine—something that rarely really annoyed her all that much—just in time to see him roll his eyes at her words. She ignored it, but he did stop the tapping. 

“Father has owled Professor Slughorn and Professor Dumbledore this afternoon,” she continued. Her father hadn’t told Druella of those letters until after he’d sent them, just before suggesting to Narcissa she took that moment to write the Lestranges; the subsequent screaming match over the dining table had proved that a fine decision. “The Ministry has been contacted to change my name, also earlier today. Which most likely means that by tomorrow… Well, you know how fast word travels in our society.”

Narcissa’s grip on her wine glass was stronger than it should be despite how tired she was, her smile both excited and rather obviously nervous, but she looked Rabastan in the eye with a little more strength than that. “Considering what could have happened but didn’t, and what did happen; my summer was fine.”

Immediately, her attention was caught by Rodolphus again, who was now sitting up straighter than before in order to drink his wine. Narcissa briefly wondered if he even noticed that he’d long returned to the rhythmic tapping of his fingers, because he didn’t seem to notice her pointed glance at his hands. “Yeah, sure; your summer was fine. Different question, then. How were  _ you _ , this summer?”

Rodolphus took a sip of his wine before he raised his eyebrows at his friend when she didn’t answer immediately, his hooded eyes that often were so easy to intimidate others with, now filled with concern. Rabastan was right; they had met Narcissa’s mother before and there were very few kind words to be said about the Black matriarch. Narcissa could focus on the good without mentioning Druella all she wanted, but the truth remained that he couldn’t remember seeing her as drained, as beaten-down, as she looked now despite her excitement. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s good you’re here, it’s good they’re not trying to hold you back. But it’s not all there is to it. Are you okay?”

He grinned when Narcissa rolled her eyes at him, but eyed her more worriedly again when she looked away from both him and Rabastan. “Could be better, I suppose.”

Rabastan rolled his eyes.  _ Could be better _ . She’d always been a master of understatement; careful, delicate understatement. “Could be better,” he repeated, and took a long, slow sip of wine. “Narcissa, that’s what Slughorn says when your Calming Draught is only acceptable. It’s not what you say when you’ve just… y’know, when you’ve just… well—” he trailed off and gesticulated vaguely with his glass. 

Neither of the Lestrange brothers were particularly tactful individuals. Their parents were careful, subtle people; Raoul and Adrastia were cosmopolitan, refined, the very definition of a modern pureblood couple. They could host a dinner party and make a thousand Galleon deal before the main course had been cleared, and most of the guests wouldn’t even know it had been a topic for discussion. 

Their sons were still boys, however, as much as they liked to think of themselves as men. Rabastan and Rodolphus had both yet to lose the instinctive urge to simply say whatever came into their heads, regardless of the clumsy phrasing or awkward language. For Rabastan, it was a particular source of irritation: he spent so long pouring over his journals, desperate to find the right words to document his thoughts and his activities. Without a pen in hand, however, he was like an erumpent in a china shop.

“Look, you know what I mean,” Bastan continued, his cheeks colouring as he tried to parse his thoughts. “Merlin, I’m glad your father’s at least tried to be agreeable about everything but… well, you don’t describe that as something that just  _ could be better _ .” 

“It’s not what you say when you’ve just disgraced your side of the family by denying your parents their only chance at an heir?” Narcissa commented, paraphrasing the never-ending criticism her mother had made her endure over the past few weeks with a dry undertone in her voice that didn’t match the slight sting the reminder brought with it. 

She knew what Rabastan meant, yes; awkward as the twins could be at times, Narcissa had had plenty of time growing used to their blunt way of speaking and she’d never minded it. Over the years they all would learn to be more eloquent, more subtle and refined after their parents’ example, she had no doubt about it, but today it hardly mattered. She knew what her friend meant, and though she didn’t like to admit it she knew he was right. 

“What else would you have me say?” She asks both the brothers at once. Narcissa sipped her wine slowly, nearly timidly, and reverted her eyes to the orchids decorating the center of the low table before them. “Father has tried to be agreeable, but has failed to me look me in the eye since I told him; aunt Walburga was both furious with me for doing this to our family and positively gleeful at how much she is able to look down at my parents for not keeping me in line; my mother… ”

Narcissa fell silent. Her mother hadn’t tried anything but to get her to change her mind. Druella had barely heard her out before stating she had one chance to take it back and pretend nothing had been said at all, and when Narcissa hadn’t taken it it seemed like she’d torn apart whatever fragile excuse for motherly love there had been between them. Through her father’s attempts at calmly bringing Druella down and her sisters’ much louder forms of protest (both Bella and Andy had never needed much reason to throw the occasional fit to begin with), just about every insult, derogatory term, and threatening prediction of her future had been thrown her way. 

She tried a smile. Druella Black’s love had never been unconditional, and had always been more linked to how proud she could be of you than anything else; with time Narcissa was certain she could win her back. “As you said, you’ve met my mother.”

Narcissa looked up, meeting Rodolphus’ eyes when he spoke up, short to the point and quite as blunt as his brother despite the genuine concern she recognised in the way he looked at her. “We’ve met her. So you’re not okay.”

She rolled her eyes. Of course she wasn’t okay, Narcissa thought to herself, and she assumed both her friends were able to guess that much rather easily. That didn’t mean she was willing to say it out loud. “I haven’t been disowned, and regardless of anything else to the rest of our society it looks as though my family supports me in this,” in her mind that was what mattered most. She knew how their society functioned, she knew what was important to the other purebloods, and she knew she would be able to use it for her own gain. “Which means that I will be.”

Rabastan nodded slowly. He lifted his glass, the ruby liquid catching the light and casting a blood-red shadow across one side of his face. “Well then,” he said quietly, “I guess we should toast to that. To you, Narcissa, and to one day being okay.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prefects badges, the Slug Club, and something rather wonderful between Adrastia and Cissa.

It never took Narcissa long to become so accustomed to the Lestrange family that it felt she’d never been gone at all, and despite the first half of her summer having been slightly more eventful than her previous ones, it was no different this time. Over the past few days she hadn’t heard from home, but truth to be told she had only realised that the previous night during a more quiet moment. 

The three of them had tried and perfected, for now at least, the flying course Rabastan had been so excited about; Narcissa had managed to beat him on it twice out of the seven times they’d flown it together, and naturally she only pretended to remember those two rounds. Dolphus played along perfectly, much to his brother’s frustration. 

She’d been introduced to Lycus, the newest foal, and had genuinely tried to follow Rodolphus' passionate but overly detailed explanation of the horse’s future. He hadn’t really noticed she’d given up on listening halfway through, his attention more on Lycus than on Narcissa herself. Her efforts were rewarded when she and Bastan were lucky enough to see their friend work on gaining the trust of a young pegasus, that they’d named Mirabelle, when Raoul wasn’t around to help him.  Narcissa wasn’t soon going to forget how bewildered Dolphus had looked when he’d been thrown backwards by the animal’s wings, and she wasn’t entirely sure whether to consider it admirable or just foolish of him that he’d been back with another attempt later that same day. 

Now, nearly a week after she’d arrived at Lestrange Manor, Narcissa was seated in between the Lestrange twins at the breakfast table that the elves had set up outside on the terrace. Nearly eleven am and it was already pleasantly warm in the shadows. The table had been set with a beautiful china that she knew to be of the Greengrass family: silvery blue decorated plates serving them fresh fruits, the finest chocolate croissants, and soft scrambled eggs. 

Narcissa sipped her orange juice listening to Bastan and Dolphus disagree over how to spend the new day, but was glad to be excused from giving her own opinion on the matter when one of the Lestrange owls came soaring towards them. It carried three letters which an elf took from it to hand to her and each of the brothers, and she recognised the Hogwarts seal instantly. 

She hesitated for just a moment to turn her letter and open it, part of her eager to see what she would need for her O.W.L.s this year, part of her hoping for the prefect’s position she’d been aiming for last year, and part of her really only wondering if her father’s letter regarding her name had come through. 

Beside her, Rodolphus elbowed her gently with a beautifully careless grin on his face. “What are you waiting for?” He asked as if he was laughing at her. Narcissa could never be completely sure if he was just missing the point or if he was deliberately trying to put her at ease, but she relaxed a little regardless of his intentions. 

“I see I’ve returned just in time,” came a voice from behind them, and Narcissa and the twins looked up to see Raoul climbing the steps to the terrace. He was in his summer riding robes—cream jodhpurs with knee-high brown riding boots, the leather shining in the summer sun, and a sand linen robe with a Nehru collar. With the sun behind him, the gilsten of perspiration on his forehead and the way he raked his fingers through his dark hair, he looked like he could be a brother to his sons. 

“Are these your Hogwarts letters,  _ mes fils _ ?” Raoul asked as he walked round the table to an empty chair opposite them, sitting beside his wife. He threw himself into it just as Rabastan would, and gratefully took a glass of cold orange juice that the elf offered him. “Aren’t you going to open them?” 

Rabastan nodded, turning his letter over and over in his hands. It would either contain the Quidditch captaincy, or not; a simple case of one or the other. Yet, it didn’t feel that simple. Bastan was certain that Rodolphus would get a Prefect’s badge, which meant that he wouldn’t— _ couldn’t _ —be a prefect. If Narcissa got one as well, then the chasm that Bastan sometimes felt between himself and his twin and best friend—it threatened to stretch, swell with some powerful flood that was Prefect duties and private bathrooms and common rooms.

“Don’t know what they’re waiting for,” Rodolphus looked up when he heard his father’s voice, only just managing to refrain from asking Raoul how the horses were doing. He eyed his brother and best friend, not quite understanding why they seemed so hesitant, but shrugged as he ripped open his own letter with a grin. As he’d more or less been expecting, an emerald-green Prefect’s badge fell out when he shook the envelope upside down enthusiastically. All the same, he grinned at the badge with pride, immediately beginning to turn it over between his fingers. 

The actual letter and the list of materials he’d need for the next school year weren’t even taken out of the envelope before he tossed it onto the breakfast table and took a bite from his toast.

“Congratulations, Dolphus!” Raoul beamed, watching his son turn the emerald green badge over in his fingers. “That is another Prefect in the family—you know, of course, that your mother and I were both Prefects.” 

Beside his father, Bastan’s head shot up. He narrowed his eyes. A little flame of green jealousy burnt low in his stomach; he hadn’t been expecting the Prefect’s badge, of course he hadn’t. He and Dolphus were well-matched in their academic skills, albeit in different subjects, and if anything, Bastan outranked him on the Quidditch pitch. But Dolphus had the qualities of leadership in him that Bastan knew he’d never have, the ability to soothe people with his presence and his bright personality. That was what had secured the Prefect’s badge for him.

Bastan swallowed. He looked back down at his own letter, the weight of the parchment in his hand. He jumped as he felt Raoul’s hand gently at the back of his neck, a soothing gesture that their father had done since they were little, and he turned his head to his father.

“Come, little dragon,” Raoul said kindly, using that old pet name for his son, a reference to the constellation from which Rabastan’s name came. “Aren’t you going to open yours, too?” 

“Right, yeah,” muttered Bastan, nodding. He took a deep, resolute breath and flicked his thumb under the wax Hogwarts seal. The edge of the envelope caught against his skin, drawing a neat papercut; delicate droplets of bright red blood bloomed as they came into contact with the parchment. 

“Shit!” Bastan dropped the letter to the table, his thumb going to his mouth. He sucked the pad of it moodily. 

Raoul laughed, ruffling his hair, and leaning over to whisper conspiratorially.  “Language, Bastan—don’t let your mother hear you speak like that.” 

Rabastan didn’t respond. He looked darkly at the offending envelope, thumb still in his mouth, before snatching it up. As he did so, something fell from inside it with a dull  _ thunk  _ against the tablecloth.

Rabastan stared for a moment or two, taking it in. Sitting there in sharp relief against the white linen was a badge, not dissimilar to the one that Rodolphus had pulled from his own letter. Only, this one was different; emerald green set into silver, just like the others’, but instead of a neat capital P for Prefect, this one was marked with a C. Rabastan’s eyes went wide with delight.

“Oh!” exclaimed Raoul, turning and giving his younger son a hearty pat to the back. “Oh, well done, Bastan! I got the Prefect’s badge but this—” he picked the badge up off the table gleefully— “this was what I really wanted.” 

While Narcissa smiled proudly at both the boys, always enjoying being able to see the sweeter moments between Raoul and Adrastia and their children, Rodolphus looked at the Captain’s badge excitedly, grinning broadly at his twin from where he was sitting. “Wick-” he looked down sheepishly when Adrastia hissed his name, chastising him with a stern look for trying to speak with his mouth full. He hastily swallowed his toast, gave his mother an apologetic look until she smiled at him, and then turned back to Bastan. 

“Wicked! Just don’t kick me off the team, eh?” He demanded with a grin. 

Bastan rolled his eyes, and tossed his napkin at his brother. “Yeah, alright, but you’ll owe me some Sugar Quills for it.” 

Rodolpus moved his chair closer to Narcissa so he could look over her shoulder when he saw she’d opened her own envelope in silence, unlike him choosing to read the letter first before putting it away. He shook his head. “It always says the same, anyway,” he told her, then shrugged after she told him to shut up. 

Narcissa read the letter quietly, rolling her eyes when Rodolphus took it upon himself to reach for the envelope she’d left on the table and take out the Prefect’s badge he’d spotted. The letter included information regarding Prefect duties that she was certain she would be explaining to Rodolphus later after he’d neglected to read his own, as well as a confirmation that the school had received her father’s letter earlier this summer. Narcissa’s chest swelled with pride at the neatly written  _ Dear Ms. Black _ , at the top of her letter.

She looked at Rodolphus, who was now holding both Prefect’s badges in his hand as though he was comparing them, and she briefly wondered which of them had been Professor Slughorn’s initial choice. Narcissa wasn’t certain if she cared to find out, really. She did know that Emma Vanity had been considered an option for Prefect, it ought to be enough of an accomplishment that she’d beaten her. “Give that back,” she demanded from Rodolphus, who grinned at her before making a dramatic bow to hand her her badge.

“M’Lady,” he said, as sincerely as he could manage, then winked at her. 

Rabastan watched the exchange between his brother and Narcissa with an almost hungry look on his face. Prefects, both of them—he couldn’t be too surprised, he supposed, they’d always been the kind of people who’d be considered for it. Rabastan did wonder idly what might have happened if Narcissa hadn’t transitioned… he didn’t envy Slughorn the task of picking a Prefect between his brother and his best friend. 

Slughorn. Thinking of him reminded Bastan that there was another piece of parchment tucked into his envelope, one that had been neatly folded and sealed with green wax and a violet ribbon.  _ Slughorn’s seal _ . Bastan frowned as he traced his thumb over the seal, thinking hard. Why was Slughorn sending him an extra message? 

Taking in a breath, he opened the letter—careful, this time, not to be on the receiving end of another papercut—and unfolded the parchment. There in neat hand was a brief, yet polite, message: 

_ Rabastan, _ it read. 

_ I would be delighted if you would join me for a spot of lunch on the Hogwarts Express, during the journey back to school on September 1st. I will travel in compartment C _ — _ shall we say twelve o’clock?  _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Professor H. E. F. Slughorn.  _

Bastan’s eyebrows shot up. His heart thumped hard against his chest as he quickly re-read the missive to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. Was this… surely this wasn’t what he thought it was? 

Swallowing, he looked up to his brother and Narcissa. “Did either of you get… I mean, have you also got a message from Slughorn? Because I think he’s invited me to the Slug Club…” 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Raoul said, ignoring the fresh cup of coffee that he had been busy adding cream to. “I have many fond memories of the Slug Club. In fact, I think it was Slughorn’s Christmas party that I first escorted your mother to, all those years ago…” 

He smiled fondly, and reached out a hand to his wife. 

Adrastia took her husband’s hand, tracing Raoul’s wedding ring in a sweet gesture as she returned his smile. “You are right, my love,” she told him, her eyes sparkling as she remembered that first night out with the man she’d fallen so deeply in love with. “How handsome you looked that evening.”

Thirty years ago it had been, and though time had made Adrastia’s recollection of the night more vague than she’d promised herself back then, she could easily recall how much she had already adored Raoul Lestrange. Her parents had been pushing for her to marry a well-known pureblood, naturally, but she would have fallen for him regardless; even three decades later she could say that with absolute certainty. 

Raoul had shown up in new-bought, elf-made dress robes and a necklace he had given to her to wear that same evening; he’d told her how beautiful he thought she was and had danced with her until their feet hurt and Adrastia, at sixteen, was struggling to maintain her composure through laughter and exhaustion. He’d only deemed her more attractive for it.

“One evening at Horace Slughorn’s Christmas party, and I’ve never wanted to let go of you since.”

Adrastia watched with pride in her eyes as Narcissa, too, retrieved a small note with a dark green seal from her envelope, already knowing it would include a similar invitation. She also smirked when Rodolphus, under her chastising gaze, reached over his plate to take the envelope he’d tossed aside previously. He opened it again with a sheepish grin and took out both the letter he’d ignored and a third note from Professor Slughorn.

“A bite with professor Slughorn on the train ride to Hogwart, after our Prefects’ meeting,” Narcissa summarised her note before neatly folding it back into her envelope. She looked up at Raoul and Adrastia Lestrange with admiring eyes, as always rather in awe with the marriage her friends’ parents had built. Her own parents got along fairly well, up until her coming out that was, but never had Cygnus and Druella showed such affection for one another. Narcissa knew very well that romance was not a must in all pureblood marriage contracts, but if she were to have a choice in the matter, she wanted a relationship resembling that of the Lestranges. 

“That sounds magical,” she told Adrastia sincerely, and she grinned when she was met with a motherly smile from the older witch. 

Next to her, Rodolphus had finally opened his own note that included a similar request as his brother’s and friend’s had had. He too looked at his parents as they remembered a first date, but unlike Narcissa he didn’t quite see the appeal to it. He turned to Narcissa with a shrug. “I’m not going to take you, though.”

At Narcissa’s insulted expression and his mother’s hissed  _ Rodolphus _ , he frowned. “What?”

“ _ I _ shall take you,” Bastan tutted, shaking his head at his brother. Then again… what if someone else wanted to go with him? “That is, if I don’t want to take anyone else,” he added quickly.

Bastan felt quite pleased with himself for that, offering to take Narcissa to the Slug Club party rather than teasing her, because  _ that _ is what a good pureblood boy does to a witch. His mother’s face, however, suggested he hadn’t quite got it right. 

Raoul let out a bark of a laugh and ruffled his younger son’s hair. “I don’t know why you’re saying that with such pride, Bastan, when it was about as refined as your brother was. Honestly, sometimes the two of you behave like you were dragged up in a cowshed, not raised in the finest house in all of England.” 

“You both desperately need to work on how you speak to a witch properly, boys,” Adrastia rolled her eyes at her sons and then smiled encouragingly at Narcissa, who looked unsure on how to respond to the twins’ supposedly well-meant rudeness. “Though I fail to see why you are under the impression the choice will be yours. Narcissa’s beautiful and she’s a Black; boys, with manners, will be tripping over themselves to be the first to ask her.”

“And probably a young wizard who’s not got scrambled eggs on his shirt, as well,” Raoul went on, nodding at Bastan with a grin. “It’s a good look for you, I must say.” 

Rabastan blushed furiously, and scrubbed at his shirt with his napkin. His father continued to look at him with such affection that it wasn’t long before he was able to laugh at himself. “A fair point,” Bastan muttered with a grin that was almost identical to his father’s. 

“Now, seeing as you all have had such exciting news,” Raoul said, standing. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin before letting it drop to the pale green linen tablecloth. “Perhaps you’d like to go to Diagon Alley and get your school things? I know we’d planned to go together tomorrow, but I think I might be held up in meetings…” 

Raoul shared a look with his wife, seemingly unnoticed by either of his sons. Narcissa, who was considerably more attentive than either Rodolphus or Rabastan, did catch it, though she couldn’t be sure what was the meaning of the way he’d looked at Adrastia. 

_ Diagon Alley _ . Bastan allowed his usually serious face to break into a wide grin. He’d spent rather a lot of time at Diagon Alley this summer; while Dolphus had been busying himself with the horses and the new foals, Rabastan had found himself a new hobby. Well, he mused,  _ hobby _ might be generous—he’d been spending an awful lot of time browsing in Flourish and Blotts, because a certain Ravenclaw girl in the year above had a summer job working behind the counter…

“We’ll have to go to Flourish and Blotts, of course,” he said, attempting to look neutral. “They’ll have all our school books.” 

Raoul smiled indulgently. “I will owl ahead to Gringotts for you, boys. Narcissa, I presume you brought your vault key?” 

Narcissa nodded in response to his question. “Yes, sir,” she told Raoul, “father has owled the bank, and I have my key with me.” 

She was excited to go to Diagon Alley with the boys, she found. From the start of the summer she’d done little other than be around either Black Hall or Lestrange Manor, and though she had little complaint about especially the latter, a chance of scenery was never a bad thing. Narcissa did always enjoy going shopping for a new school year, too. New potions ingredients and books she had never read before, new supplies and the newest most beautiful quills, brand-new sets of robes and uniforms; she was looking forward to it already.

“Flourish and Blotts, of course,” Narcissa agreed with Bastan, though she tilted her head slightly at his expression when he’d offered it. “I do also want to see what Obscurus Books has to offer, and of course the apothecary, the Menagerie, and you,” she looked at Rodolphus, “need a new cauldron. Yours is falling apart.”

She also wanted to go to Madam Malkin’s, or perhaps Twilfitt and Tatting’s, as well as Madam Primpernelle’s, but Narcissa suddenly wasn’t sure if she wanted to drag the boys along to those as well or if it would be strange for her to do so. Perhaps she could ask Adrastia to take her on a later day, instead. 

“I don’t see why we’d need to go to Obscurus as well,” pouted Bastan, “everything we might need is in Flourish and Blotts, and—”

“You’ve got all day, darling, why not do both?” Adrastia asked mildly, as she stood to join her husband. Then, with a gesture that might  _ almost _ be construed as nervous, or at least cautious, she reached out a hand and placed it on Narcissa’s shoulder. “Don’t try and take them to the robemakers, my dear, they’re awful when shopping for clothes. I’ll arrange for Madam Malkin to come to the house tomorrow for uniform fittings—so much easier, you see. Perhaps I could arrange for Madam Primpernelle to join her? I imagine you’d like to expand your wardrobe for the upcoming year.” 

“Why would you want to do that?” Rodolphus asked with a frown. “How many sets of robes could you need?”

Adrastia laughed—a light, charming sound like silver bells—and gave Narcissa a knowing look, like there was some secret being passed between the two of them, something that no one else present could ever expect to understand. “See what I mean?” she asked, one perfect eyebrow raised. “So, you and I will do clothes, Narcissa dear. For once, I will not be the only woman in the house.” 

Narcissa grinned, earnest and bright. “Yes,” she said softly, looking up at the Lestrange matriarch, “I’d like that very much.” 


End file.
